From The Ashes
by seeing-spots
Summary: REVISED AND CHANGED Glorfindel of Gondolin has been sent back to Middle Earth early in the Third Age.
1. Chapter One

**From the Ashes** by Jessie Syring

**Disclaimer**: All characters belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. I hope I insult no one by playing with his characters.

**Author's Note**: Glorfindel's death and resurrection.

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Darkness against light.

Flame against steel.

Fury against determination.

Smoke and a blood-red glow stained the night sky from the burning city of Gondolin as the foes faced each other on the craggy peak of Cristhorn. The Elf's fine chain mail and slightly curved sword seemed a poor second against the might of the demon. But the warrior's position on the narrow trail hampered the Balrog, preventing it from turning its full wrath on him.

Glorfindel felt a mixture of fear and rage as he faced the huge, winged monster. His best friend, Ecthelion, had slain the mightiest of the Balrogs, drowning it in the city's great fountain before being pulled down by the weight of his armor. They could be slain. Water was their foe. There was precious little water here on this rocky precipice, though. And he was but one warrior, already exhausted from battling orcs and goblins, then fleeing the city.

The demon roared, sending a blast of superheated air over him as he ducked beneath its fiery breath. Glorfindel recoiled, closing his eyes and feeling his skin become dry, his sweat evaporating before it formed. He heard the screams of fear from the survivors of the ruined city. The sound firmed his resolve: if this demon wanted them, it would have to get past him first.

He heard a whistling sound and dodged left as the Balrog's many-thonged whip struck the cliff above him. Burning embers and fragments of rock rained down on him. Glorfindel was watching for the second attack. It came quickly, the flaming sword cutting across in what would have been a killing blow had he not anticipated it. The golden-haired Elf went low and inside the attack, slicing downward with his own blade.

The Balrog screamed in fury as the Elf's sword sliced deeply into its whip arm. The weapon fell from its grasp, tumbling down the mountain into the deep chasm below. Black blood dripped from the beast's wound, bursting into short-lived flames as it struck the stone.

Glorfindel's sword felt warm in his grip and its fine blade glowed with more than the reflected flames. He ignored it and pressed his attack, trying to stay inside the Balrog's greater reach. He managed to inflict several minor wounds before the Balrog struck out, kicking him with a huge cloven hoof. Glorfindel flew a dozen feet and landed hard, gasping for breath. His lungs burned from the heated air and stabbing pain told him of broken ribs. He could taste blood and smelled the acrid stench of scorched hair---his own.

Bellowing in victory, the Balrog advanced on him. Flames swirled around its massive body and trickled from its nostrils. The Elf warrior tried to get up. His left arm wouldn't work---broken bones ground together. His right leg throbbed in time to his pounding heart. The heat was unbearable, searing his skin and robbing him of his strength. As the Balrog swooped in for a kill, Glorfindel thrust his sword savagely upward. The demon's triumphant roar turned to an anguished screech as the blade sank deep into its abdomen. Glorfindel twisted the sword and jerked it free with all his might.

He fell to his knees weakly as the Balrog fell backwards, black wings frantically beating in an effort to stay aloft. He heard a scream and looked up dizzily to see a huge hand lunge toward him. Black claws ripped through armor and flesh to pierce his body. He could not breathe. Flames licked at his clothing. The enraged Balrog opened its mouth.

With the last of his strength, Glorfindel shoved his sword into the gaping maw.

The Balrog's talons released him and Glorfindel dropped heavily to the stone, his sword gone. His hands clawed desperately at the mountain, trying to stay on the narrow path. The Balrog lashed out one last time as it fell in its death throes. Its claws tangled in the Elf's long hair, yanking his head back.

Breaking his hold.

Breaking his neck.

They both fell.

**ڃ ڃ ڃ**


	2. Chapter Two

**From the Ashes** by Jessie Syring

**DISCLAIMER**: All characters belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. I hope I insult no one by playing with his characters.

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Chapter Two 

He could hear the singing of birds and the rustle of leaves as a light wind blew by.

The Elf opened his eyes and stared upward at huge trees towering over him. He sat up carefully and looked around, a slight frown marring his handsome features. He could hear the sound of rushing water in the distance but could not see the source. And he heard voices, faint and far away.

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly for a moment and staggered to his feet. His bare feet left no track as he stumbled toward the voices. He could make out multiple voices now, both male and female, and the sound of splashing water. He stepped into a clearing that held a large pool. Several dark-haired Elves were in and around it, laughing and splashing water on each other. One, a male, saw him and rose, calling out sharply and gesturing at his nudity.

The words seemed so far away.

He collapsed.

**ڃ ڃ ڃ**

"Lord Elrond!"

The lord of Imladris looked up, frowning slightly, as a young female burst into his study. Her bare feet were dirty and water dripped from her long black hair to puddle on the floor.

"Amarië," he chastised, "it is hardly necessary---"

"Please, Lord Elrond, you must come." Her words came in a rush. "We found someone. He is injured---"

Elrond needed to hear nothing else. Closing his ledger, he hurried from the study and out of his large home. He hurried down the well-worn path leading to the nearby springs. He hadn't gone far when he met the group coming from the springs. Erestor led the way. The younger, stern-faced Elf carried a limp figure in his arms, wrapped in a blanket. Elrond hurried to them.

"What happened, Erestor? Did he fall?"

"I cannot say, Lord Elrond. I have never seen him before but he came walking up to the pool and collapsed. He is breathing but has not stirred."

Elrond pulled the blanket aside and gasped in surprise. The Elf's long hair was blond with a bit of red in it so as to appear golden. He looked young, perhaps Erestor's age, and his fair features were unmarked. His breathing was steady.

Elrond looked at the other Elves. "Do any of you know him?" he asked. No one answered. "Let us get him to the hall, Erestor. The rest of you return to your homes."

**ڃ ڃ ڃ**

Elrond stood beside the bed, staring down at the occupant. He knew as little now as he had when the strange Elf had first been found nearly a week ago. Physically, he had no injuries that Elrond could find but he had not stirred and his eyes were shut. He gave no indication of hearing anything around him and had not responded to any stimulus Elrond had tried.

Sighing, the healer turned to leave. He paused and looked back at his patient again and straightened in surprise. Blue eyes were looking around the room. The Elf blinked several times, then turned his head to look at Elrond.

"Mae govannen," Elrond said in greeting. "Nalye a Imladris. Im Elrond hin." 1

The strange Elf stared at him without reaction. Elrond frowned---the Elf's eyes seemed somehow older than all the ages of the world but gave no indication he understood any of Elrond's words.

"Can you hear and understand me?" Elrond asked.

The Elf turned away.

**ڃ ڃ ڃ**

The open door to one of the halls drew Erestor's attention as he made his final round of the Last Homely House for the night. He entered Elrond's Hall and stood atop the wide stairs and looked around.

Ah, he should have realized.

He glided down the stairs and crossed the large room. Over the last few days, the golden-haired Elf had taken to wandering and could usually be found here, studying the numerous murals and artifacts, wearing little more than the loose robe they had provided him. The room was mostly dark, its candles snuffed to decrease the risk of fire, but the stranger had a natural glow brighter than any Erestor had known and the glow guided his steps. The stranger stood before a painting of a city in flames, besieged by dragons and other fell beasts.

"The fall of Gondolin," Erestor said, joining the stranger. "The darkest days the Elves have ever known."

The Elf turned, then, and looked at him. "It is wrong," he said.

Erestor raised one eyebrow. The Elf spoke Sindarin but the accent was peculiar. Plus, his words were hardly diplomatic. "That mural was done shortly after our arrival here," he said sternly. "It was done with the memories of Elves who have since passed to the Undying Lands."

The strange Elf looked at him again. "Very few survived the attacks. But the mountains are wrong." He touched the mural, lightly tracing the mountains beyond the burning city. "The smoke was so heavy, the mountains were invisible. And the order of the mountains is wrong anyway. At this angle, Cristhorn should be here, above Cirith Thornath."

Erestor frowned. "You speak as if you were there."

The strange eyes turned on him. "I was there. And I died here, defending the refugees." He pointed at the map, at the spot where he had said Cristhorn should be. "In 510 of what is now called the First Age."

Erestor backed up a step, his eyes wide. "That is not possible."

The Elf raised his head. "I do not understand how or why, but I was sent back."

**ڃ ڃ ڃ**

Elrond sat in his high-backed chair, fingers steepled before him, and listened to his most-trusted councilors argue. He had told these privileged few what the stranger had said and already they were arguing the meaning of having Glorfindel returned from the Halls of Mandos.

Finally he said, "Enough!" Silence followed. Elrond rose. "We have always believed that no one returns to Arda---they are sent to the Undying Lands. But we cannot deny this Elf is here and has memories we cannot account for."

"He is mad," said Celebdin.

"Perhaps. But we, here, cannot decide that. I am dispatching riders to Lothlorien and the Grey Havens. Perhaps the wisest among us may have the answers. In the meanwhile, Erestor, I am putting him in your care. If he is going to wander our halls, he needs to watch his tongue. Many would be troubled by his words. For the nonce, he is harming no one."

As the council split up, Elrond strode toward the Halls of Healing with Erestor in close step behind. They made their way to the room given to the strange Elf. He was seated on the bed, staring with wide eyes at the glowing coals in the fireplace.

"Glorfindel?" called Erestor. The Elf started and looked up. "This is Elrond, lord of Imladris."

Glorfindel hastily rose. "Lord Elrond, I am at your service. You favor your great-grandfather."

Elrond frowned slightly. Erestor hastily cleared his throat. "We have much to discuss and learn about each other. Lord Elrond has asked me to see to your needs."

"And keep a careful watch on me."

"Is it necessary?" Elrond asked.

"I am a stranger here and come with a most unusual tale. I would not think that would mark me as trustworthy."

"I do not deny there is wisdom in that. But I will not keep you locked away here when there is sunshine and fresh air to enjoy."

Elrond excused himself and left, casting a thoughtful glance at Erestor on his way out. Erestor looked around and noticed the fire was nearly out. "Let me fix that," he said. "There is a chill to the air."

He knelt and added a log to the flames. The wood popped and sparks shot into the air. Glorfindel cried out and before fled the room Erestor could react. Erestor ran into the hall, looking around frantically. But the golden-haired Elf was already out of sight. The dark-haired councilor began searching rooms.

He found Glorfindel in Elrond's Hall, crouched in a dark corner. He was curled into a tight ball and rocking back and forth, staring blankly ahead. Tears ran down his face. Erestor went to him, calling his name, but got no reaction. He reached out and touched Glorfindel's shoulder.

"Are you all right? What's wrong?"

Glorfindel didn't respond. He seemed unaware of his surroundings. Alarmed, Erestor ran back into the corridor and searched until he found a servant. He sent her for Lord Elrond, and hurried to the other Elf's side again. He pulled off his outer tunic and wrapped it around Glorfindel's shoulders. Then he sat, awkwardly unsure what to do, until Rivendell's lord arrived.

Elrond knelt beside Erestor and looked over Glorfindel. "What happened?" he asked.

"I do not know. Some kind of fit?" Erestor shrugged.

Elrond waved a hand in front of the staring eyes. He reached to feel Glorfindel's pulse and found his muscles rigid, the blood racing through his veins. The Elf was trembling violently.

"Bring my bag," Elrond said quietly, "and some strong wine."

As Erestor hurried out of the room, he could hear Elrond's voice quietly chanting. He quickly found wine and a goblet and the bag in which Elrond kept a ready supply of medicines. He came back to the room and paused. Glorfindel had come out of his shock and now had his face buried in his arms as sobs shook his body. Elrond massaged his back soothingly. He caught Erestor's eye and signaled him forward. The healer took a white powder from his bag and put a pinch of it in the goblet before pouring wine into it. Then he made the distraught Elf drink the contents of the cup.

The sobs slowly subsided. Glorfindel took a deep breath and looked up. "I-I'm sorry."

"What happened?" Erestor asked, his own voice anguished. "If I did something---"

"No. You didn't do anything. It was the fire. I---" Glorfindel swallowed hard. "Please. I'd just like to go back to my room."

He stood up shakily and pushed past both Elf lords. Elrond's eyebrow quirked up and he looked at Erestor. Erestor looked nearly distraught as the fair-haired Elf had. "I do not know what happened! I was stoking the fire and...and he ran away."

Elrond nodded slowly in sympathetic understanding. "It is to be expected, my friend. His last memory involved the fire of the Balrog and dying."

"I am sorry," Erestor said.

"He will understand. Just give him some time for now. Would you see if you can find some decent clothing for him?"

"Of course."

Erestor bustled out. Elrond sighed and collected his bag before rising, pausing to stare at the mural on the wall. He doubted Glorfindel had even noticed he had taken refuge beneath the image of Gondolin burning.

**ڃ ڃ ڃ**

* * *

1 Welcome. You are in Imladris. I am Lord Elrond. 


	3. Chapter Three

**From the Ashes** by Jessie Syring

**Disclaimer**: All characters belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. I hope I insult no one by playing with his characters.

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**Chapter Three**

The soft singing of birds outside the window woke Glorfindel. His eyes came slowly into focus and he stared at the high-arched ceiling of the room. He sat up, casting a hasty glance toward the fireplace, and felt relieved to see the fire was out. He turned to look out the window beside the bed. Large trees filled his view and, cocking his head to the side, he could hear the sound of water. This place was so strange to him, yet somehow he felt at peace.

A quiet sound at the door brought his attention back. A black-haired Elf cautiously stuck his head in, looked around, then started to pull back.

"Please, stay," Glorfindel called. "Lord...Erestor, isn't it?"

The Elf reappeared. "Yes. I hope I didn't wake you." He stepped into the room, arms full. "I wanted to bring you some clothing."

Glorfindel smiled. "Lord Elrond still plans on letting me out of his prison?"

Erestor coughed---probably to hide a chuckle, Glorfindel thought---and set the clothes on a nearby chair. "I think he is more afraid he will find you wandering Imladris half-clothed again." Erestor looked away and said, "I am sorry about yesterday. I---"

"U-moe edhaved, Erestor hin," 1 said Glorfindel. "Though more than four thousand years have passed, the memory is like yesterday to me. You had no way of knowing."

"Please, just call me Erestor." Erestor smiled warmly. "I will leave so you can get dressed."

As soon as he was gone, Glorfindel got out of bed. The clothes were finely woven silk. The long-sleeved shirt was a very pale green that seemed to glow. Leaf-patterned embroidery decorated the loose sleeves and high collar. The trousers were a much darker green. The low boots of supple brown leather could be laced to hold them tight---fortunately, because they looked a bit large. A slender golden belt completed the ensemble. He dressed quickly and began carefully untangling his hair with his long fingers so he could brush it.

A quiet knock sounded on the door. "Come in," he called.

"I brought some leather pieces in case you want to bind your hair out of your face," said Erestor.

Glorfindel put his hand to the back of his head instinctively. He hadn't really thought about his warrior braids and the trinket that had once held them until now. He sighed almost to himself, his expression sad. "Of course. It would not have survived any way." Erestor cocked his head questioningly. He explained, "Just a trinket. A piece of leather with a token on it."

Glorfindel began studiously brushing his hair so he could ignore the pain in his heart. A trinket it might have been, but Ecthelion had given it to him his last birthday before...he hastily swallowed a sob and finished brushing his hair. He took a lock on each side of his head and braided them, then pulled them back and secured them at the back of his head with a simple knot instead of the leather. Finally he rose and smiled.

"Now I am fit to walk the halls. Would you show me around? I have much to learn and, to be quite honest, I am quite hungry."

Erestor laughed. "I think we can find something to satisfy a hungry Elf lord."

**ڃ ڃ ڃ**

The pair spent the following days exploring Imladris beyond the halls of the Last Homely House. Glorfindel spoke little other than to comment on something that caught his eye or ask questions regarding something Erestor had said. They both laughed when they ran into a rather preoccupied Elrond, who absently greeted them and asked Erestor if he had seen Glorfindel yet that day.

After three days, the weather turned to cold rain. Erestor encouraged his new friend to explore Imladris' library and learn what he could of the thousands of years of history he had missed. Glorfindel obtained directions and set off.

Glorfindel walked quietly down one of the many halls in the Last Homely House, nodding greeting to the few people he passed but not pausing to visit. His journey took him to a pair of double doors with brass fittings but plainly crafted, a strange sight here. He paused a moment, then pushed one door inward. The air had a slightly musty smell to it. He stepped inside and stopped, his mouth agape. From the casual way Erestor spoke of the library, he had not expected anything like this!

Like all of Rivendell, the woodwork was carved in lovingly delicate patterns of natural themes. All around him and as far as he could see were shelves and stands filled with books. Tables took up spaces between the shelves, and he could also see comfortable-looking chairs near the large windows or unlit lamps. A gracefully curving staircase led upward to a gallery that held even more books. Strategically placed ladders provided access to the higher areas of the shelves. Sunshine filtered through the clouds and streamed through the numerous windows.

Some five paces inside the room, a small stand held a large, thick book bound in faded black leather. Curious, Glorfindel walked toward it. The cover had an embossed image that had nearly worn away with age. He ran a sensitive finger over the design but could not quite determine what the image had been. A worn ribbon of purple silk showed beyond the edges of the pages and he carefully opened the tome to the page marked.

The book opened to a map that filled both pages. Glorfindel cocked his head to one side as he studied it. The details were incredible. A key clearly indicated the approximate size of each town, city, and village that was marked on the map. Roads and trails were inked in different colors according to its quality and accessibility. Different types of vegetation had been carefully color-coded as well. Even the mountains showed snow and elevations.

Glorfindel frowned slightly, tracing a mountain range in the far northwest with one finger. The Blue Mountains, as they were labeled, were known to him from his previous life---they ran nearly due north and south to the east of Gondolin. But this map showed them too near the sea. Gondolin was nowhere to be found, nor could he locate the River Sirion. He pursed his lips thoughtfully and carefully paged backward toward the front of the book. There were many maps and drawings of battles, wondrous beasts, and people. He paused at one particular image of a black-haired Elf hair dressed in gold-washed armor. The picture was strikingly life-like, showing strength and care in somewhat stern features.

"Ereinion Gil-Galad." Startled, Glorfindel looked up to see Elrond standing on the stairs to the gallery. The lord of Imladris glided down the stairs, adding, "The book was a gift from him. He felt some day I would have children and a pictorial history of Arda would be much appreciated."

"Forgive me, Lord Elrond. I did not mean to disturb you."

"You did not. I often come here in the morning to enjoy some peace before duty calls. It is also the only time I have to write letters to my wife, Celebrian." A slight smile crossed his strong features. "She and our daughter are in Lothlorien, visiting her parents. I must admit that I miss them both dearly." Elrond hastily cleared his throat, his embarrassment clear to Glorfindel.

Glorfindel smiled slightly and changed the subject. "It is a fine book," he said, closing the book. "His father, Fingon, would have approved. He felt the arts were every bit as important as being a warrior or leader."

"But I do not think you are here to merely look at pictures."

"No." Glorfindel stepped away from the book and stared at the many shelves around him. "While in the Halls of Mandos, time has no meaning. A mere heartbeat of time could be hundreds of years in reality. Erestor has told me much of the history of the last Age, but there is only so much one person can know and understand."

"And so you wish to learn what you may. Where would you like to start?"

Glorfindel looked away for a moment, then looked back at Elrond. "After the founding of Gondolin. Turgon kept us isolated from the outside world so we knew very little of what happened beyond the Echoriath. Only after Nirnaeth Aroediad, when we took in the survivors of Fingon's army, did we learn of many of the events." He smiled. "I did not know a Silmaril had been stolen from the crown of Morgoth until Erestor pointed out the star of your father."

"And you have questions of the fall of Gondolin," said Elrond.

"Yes. It happened so suddenly but the attack was organized. I am certain we were betrayed but I did not have time to wonder."

Nodding thoughtfully, Elrond walked past Glorfindel to a corner farthest from the doors and climbed a ladder until he could reach the highest shelf. Glorfindel could see the shelf only held a handful of books and all looked dusty and in danger of falling apart. Elrond selected one, lifting it with care, and brought it down to him.

"This book is called _The Silmarillion_. It was written following the War of Wrath and the banishment of Morgoth using many journals and memories of those who lived during those times." Elrond looked at it and smiled fondly. "Idril of Gondolin, my grandmother, did much of the work before she sailed into the West." Glorfindel gave him a startled look but Elrond merely held out the book and said, "You will find many of the answers you seek here."

The Half-Elf left the library, closing the door quietly behind him. Glorfindel looked at the tome in his hands for a long moment. Then he carried it to a window seat and began reading.

**ڃ ڃ ڃ**

Carrying a precariously balanced tray of food and two glasses of wine, Erestor made his way down the hall toward the library. Glorfindel had not been present for the midday meal and, upon inquiring, the dark-haired councilor learned he had last been seen in the library. He hastily assembled a tray with enough food for both of them and set off in search of his friend.

Awkwardly holding the tray on one arm, he turned the knob on one library door and pushed it inward with his hip. "Glorfindel," he called as he entered, "you have been here all day. Surely it is time for---"

He broke off, smiling. Glorfindel still sat in one of the window seats, late afternoon sunlight highlighting his golden hair. A thick tome with tattered and yellowed pages sat open on his lap. But Glorfindel had fallen asleep.

Erestor set the tray on a nearby table and walked lightly to the sleeping warrior. He carefully slipped the book free of his relaxed grip and glanced at the cover. _Not an easy read for anyone_, he thought and set the book beside the tray. Erestor left the library with one last smile for his friend, quietly closing the door.

**ڃ ڃ ڃ**

* * *

1 There is nothing to forgive, Lord Erestor. 


	4. Chapter Four

**From the Ashes **by Jessie Syring

**Disclaimer**: All characters belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. I hope I insult no one by playing with his characters.

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Chapter Four 

Glorfindel walked through the woods, enjoying the night sounds all around him. Lord Elrond had finally consented to let him wander without escort after Erestor had pointed out that all Elves needed their freedom to explore and enjoy life. Unfortunately, the new freedom meant Erestor had returned to some of his own duties as well. Glorfindel found himself missing Erestor when he was absent. The dark-haired councilor was proving to be a good friend during the time it was taking him to adjust.

Glorfindel's path led him to the bridge over the Bruinen not far from his new home. The distant sound of the falls muffled the sounds of the night birds and crickets. Behind him, he heard a burst of laughter from somewhere in the Last Homely House and smiled, finding a feeling of security in that sound. He sat on the bridge rail and stared upward at the starry sky.

"I thought I would find you here," called a familiar voice. "You spend a lot of time gazing at the stars."

"Aye," Glorfindel agreed, not looking at Erestor. "I have always enjoyed their presence. Even as we crossed the Grinding Ice, I would often look at them and wonder how they came to be. Do they burn with fire? Is that why they sparkle and shine? Or are they gems, like the Silmarils? Placed there to draw the eye and cause wonder."

Erestor smiled and sat beside him. "Surely you of all Elves have heard the story of the lighting of the stars."

"From the Valar themselves. But that does not stop me from dreaming."

"No, indeed, it does not."

They sat in companionable silence for some time. Glorfindel said, "Turgon was told at Unnumbered Tears that from his line would come a new star. None knew what it meant then." A ghost of a smile crossed his features. "But Eärendil was an unruly child. I never thought he would reach his majority."

"It took unbelievable courage to do what he did, crossing the oceans to beg aid of the Valar." Erestor looked away suddenly and Glorfindel thought he saw a slight flush on his face. "He was my hero when I was an Elfling. I wanted to join him in his eternal watch among the stars, guided by the light of his Silmaril. I even built a small boat to practice sailing on a pond near my home."

Glorfindel looked at him curiously. "Were you successful?"

"No. It sank ten feet from shore." Erestor chuckled at the memory. "It was very disheartening."

Glorfindel nodded, an expression of understanding on his face. "I wanted to be an eagle and fly high above the world. Higher than the throne of Manwë. I made wings of golden cloth stretched over frames of carefully bent willow."

"How long was your flight, Master Eagle?"

"Fifteen feet. Straight down." He smiled in embarrassment. "I cried my heart out because my beautiful wings were now just splinters of wood and fragments of cloth. And it did not help that I broke my arm."

"You will tell me if you plan another such flight?"

"I have flown twice and have no desire to repeat the success of either journey." Erestor looked at him, confusion clearly written on his face. Glorfindel said, "I did not fair so well falling off a mountain, either."

"I am sorry. I did not mean to remind you of---"

"My death?" Glorfindel shrugged. "I have come to accept it. This new world is still strange and new to me, Master Mariner, and I have much to learn. But I will still recall the times before. There was joy even then. I remember the first rising of the Sun. The Moon rose first, just as we reached land." He crossed his long legs and folded his hands on his lap. "I did not know what to make of it---its light was brighter than that of the stars yet we feared it would betray us to Morgoth---we thought he walked these lands unchallenged. Seven times it crossed the sky before the Sun rose. And we hid in fear; the Valar had abandoned us so they could not have sent this light. But we grew to love it as we loved the light of the Trees."

"And now?"

"I walk in sunshine and feel its warmth. But I love the stars still."

Erestor looked at his hands. "My father often spoke of the first Sunrise. But he rarely spoke of the crossing of the Helcaraxë."

"There is nothing to be told," Glorfindel said curtly.

The Noldo Elf stiffened and looked away, rising to leave. Glorfindel immediately regretted his hasty words and the hurt he had obviously caused Erestor. He touched his arm.

"Erestor, I am sorry. I did not mean to be so harsh. It is just…that whole time was so difficult. And much of it is a blur. I do not even know how long the journey to Arda took because there was no way to measure the passage of time."

Glorfindel fell silent again, redirecting his gaze to the water flowing beneath the bridge. Erestor sat down once more, saying nothing. The golden-haired Elf said nothing again for a very long time.

"Cold. That is what I remember most," he said at last. "The wind across the ice sapped heat and strength from the strongest. We had left the youngest children in Valinor with those who stayed behind. It was for the best---they would not have survived the cold. Too many of those who made the journey did not. Do you know why we pressed on? Why we did not return?"

Erestor shook his head. "I thought that perhaps it had to do with the Oath."

"Fëanor's accursed Oath? Very few held to it---the Silmarils did not belong to the rest of us. Only the Fëanorans were truly bound to it and they took the ships." Glorfindel laughed bitterly. "Thus we learned the truth of the Doom of Mandos. What were his words? Treason of kin unto kin? Fëanor left his brothers and most of his own people to die in the frozen wastes. Oath breakers, he called us. We crossed the ice out of stubbornness and seeking revenge."

He fell silent again, looking back to the stars. Tears glistened in his blue eyes as he said, "So many were lost. Elenwë, wife of Turgon, fell into a crevice hidden by a thin layer of snow. Ecthelion's father was slain by a great white bear. Few in my house died after Alqualondë, though we were sorely pressed for food and shelter." His breath escaped in a sad sigh and he looked at Erestor. "My father died at Alqualondë."

Erestor placed a hand on his shoulder. "I am truly sorry."

Glorfindel nodded, unable to speak. Suddenly he raised his head and looked toward the Last Homely House. Erestor glanced that way as well as he heard singing. Erestor smiled and rose.

"I have depressed you with dark thoughts. Let us return to the hall and the sunshine we might find there."

Glorfindel looked at him and smiled slightly, encouraged by Erestor's own expression. The two walked toward the building.

**ڃ ڃ ڃ**

Glorfindel stood on the great porch of the Last Homely House and sighed in contentment. He hadn't thought much about his previously life and he suspected Erestor was keeping him busy so he wouldn't. He liked this place of refuge and, peering through the scattered clouds at the bright star twinkling overhead, thought Eärendil would be proud of what his son Elrond had built here. The star brought a smile to his face and he wondered if Fëanor's spirit restlessly stalked the cold halls of Mandos, driven by the knowledge one of his precious Silmarils was so near and yet so far out of reach.

Soft music reached his ears and he cocked his head, listening. Someone within the Hall of Fire was singing. He had learned this was common in Imladris, especially on dreary days like these last few. He had ventured into the audience with Erestor and listened to songs ages old but new to him. From where he stood now, he could not make out the words of the song so he went inside and entered the Hall of Fire.

Several female Elves were gathered at one of the tables, chatting merrily as they did needlework and kept alert eyes on young children. Others spun thread or rolled yarn. Elladan and Elrohir, the twin sons of Elrond, were absorbed in a game involving intricately carved pieces being moved on a board of colored squares, egged on by several watchers. A young male with silvery hair had seated himself on a high stool and was strumming a mandolin while singing softly about the lovers Beren and Luthien. When he finished his song, he rose and went to Glorfindel.

"Glorfindel? Someone pointed you out to me last night."

"I was enjoying your music, minstrel," Glorfindel said with a slight bow, struggling to remember the Elf's name. He had met so many people in his short time here! "You have a fine voice."

"You have not been here long. I was wondering if you have any songs from some of the lands through which you have traveled that you might wish to share."

Glorfindel paused, not sure how to answer that. The lands through which he had traveled? This Elf could not begin to understand what he had been through before coming here. But his own love of music won through.

"I know a few songs. But they are very old."

The minstrel sat down, looking at him with intense interest. "Old songs teach us lessons," he pointed out.

Glorfindel nodded. After a few moments of thought, he began to sing:

I've seen the moon

And the first sunrise.

I'll leave it to the memories

And kiss the wind goodbye.

The house of spirits call.

I've tasted poison

When I drank the wine of fate

But fear was in my heart

I realized to late.

High's the fee.

Soon my spirit will return.

Welcome, dawn,

Your light will take me home.

I say farewell. 1

Glorfindel fell silent, the words fading as tears filled his eyes. He realized the Hall had fallen silent and everyone was staring at him. He spun around and fled. Just outside the door, he nearly ran down Erestor.

"Who was singing?" asked Erestor. "It was beautiful!"

Glorfindel merely pushed past him.

**ڃ ڃ ڃ**

Glorfindel sat on the edge of his bed, staring out the window as dawn light filled the forest but not really seeing it. Why had he chosen that song, of all those he knew, to sing? Tears rolled unchecked down his fair face and he choked back a sob. Ecthelion had written it shortly after reaching Middle-Earth, when they were so full of hope.

Someone knocked on the door and he didn't answer, hoping the intruder would just go away. The knock came again, louder and more persistent.

"Glorfindel," came the familiar voice of Erestor, "I know you are in there."

"Go away."

There was a momentary pause, then the door opened and Erestor entered. "Glorfindel, what is wrong? I have not seen you since last night and you were troubled then. Are you all right?"

"Please, just go away." Glorfindel wiped at his eyes. "Leave me alone."

"I am your friend." Erestor sat beside him. "I will not leave until you tell me why you are so distressed."

Glorfindel gave a sound as close to a sob as a sigh. "I do not belong here, Erestor."

"What do you mean?"

"I am a stranger here. Everything I knew is gone. The people I knew have passed into the West or...or..." He choked back the words, unable to continue.

Erestor rubbed his back soothingly as Glorfindel was wracked by sobs. After a few moments, the golden-haired Elf managed to regain some of his composure.

"People speak of events and heroes I have never heard of and stare at me when I cannot offer anything."

"Your song was welcome in the hall yesterday."

Glorfindel waved that away with a gesture. "They stared at me, Erestor, like I was Morgoth himself."

"They stared at you in wonder. That song is unknown to us."

"I am likely the only one alive this day who knows it. Ecthelion wrote it after we crossed the Grinding Ice and the sun and moon rose. We had such great hope and lingering fears but clearly the Valar had not fully abandoned us." Glorfindel sighed. "And then the battles. So many died. We thought Gondolin was safe. The attack seems like only yesterday to me. I feel I should see the Encircling Mountains when I look out the window. I want to hear the cry of the great eagles who watched over us." He finally met Erestor's gaze. "When I hear a knock on the door, I half-expect to see Ecthelion walk in."

Erestor pulled his hand away. "I am sorry, I did not know. I will leave---"

"Please, don't," Glorfindel begged. "I did not mean it in that way. I value your friendship---it means more than I can say. But I feel lost, a stray child who wishes only to go home again. No one can truly understand what I know. Lindir sings of heroes I called friends."

Glorfindel slumped over, holding his head. Erestor reached out again, tentatively, and wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders. Glorfindel accepted the quiet support.

"Lord Elrond once told me history is made up the stories of the survivors," Erestor said.

Glorfindel looked at him, his lips twisted in a wry smile. "Because I died, I am lost in history?"

Erestor shook his head. "Because you died, your stories have yet to be told. We know of your death, but what about your life? I would like to hear your tales."

"Out of pity?"

"Out of friendship. And curiosity. In all the books on the history of Arda, little is said of you and Ecthelion. We know by assumption you followed Turgon to Gondolin. You both fought at Unnumbered Tears. Ecthelion died slaying the lord of the Balrogs---"

"I always told him the fountain was too deep," Glorfindel said, smiling faintly. "Lord of the Fountain. The title fit him so well. He took delight in water in all forms. He would have liked this place, I think. Though we would never see him---he would spend all his time at the falls."

Glorfindel sighed deeply. After a long silence, he looked at Erestor. His blue eyes were dry but there was still a shadow there.

"There is no pleasure in coming back, Erestor. I feel...rejected by the Valar. And afraid. And very alone."

Erestor rose suddenly. "Come with me," he said.

"Where?"

"There is a place I wish to show you."

"I am not dressed for---"

"I give you to the count of one thousand to meet me at the front doors. If you are not there, I will come get you if you are nude."

With that threat, Erestor smiled secretively as he left the room. Glorfindel sighed heavily, still feeling depressed. But he rose and slowly began to dress.

**ڃ ڃ ڃ**

They followed the river downstream until what had been a dawn sun was now hanging low in the sky. Erestor followed a trail he seemed familiar with although Glorfindel could see no trace. Glorfindel suddenly stopped, head raised alertly. They had traveled far enough that the sound of the falls near the Last Homely House was barely a whisper but now the sound of another waterfall reached his ears. Erestor pointed out a trail leading through the brush and down a fairly steep incline and let Glorfindel lead the way now. He nearly ran into the golden-haired Elf when Glorfindel stopped suddenly with a startled gasp.

The trail ended on a narrow cliff that formed a natural balcony surrounded on all sides by steep cliffs. The late afternoon sun lit one side of the chasm with brilliant shades of red and gold. Glorfindel rushed to the edge of the cliff and stared down. To his left, a large stream tumbled off a rocky precipice, falling some distance to vanish in the mist and shadows of the River Bruinen far below. Sun struck the mist, creating colorful rainbows in the air, and highlighted the falls and parts of the gorge.

"It is beautiful," he said, his voice filled with quiet awe.

"I discovered this place just after we came here. I was hardly more than a child. Have a care," Erestor cautioned as Glorfindel leaped to a rock very near the edge. "Many of these rocks are loose. Should you fall, your body will be found somewhere around Hollin."

"So much has changed in this world." Glorfindel closed his eyes and smiled at the feel of the sun and spray on his face. "Has anyone ever returned to Gondolin?"

"No." Erestor sounded startled. "Valar, you don't know! All those lands are gone now, underwater for a thousand years and more."

Glorfindel stared at him, then sank onto the rock. Erestor moved up to sit beside him. "I should not be surprised," Glorfindel said, shaking his head slowly. "I saw so many changes just in the short years before my death. I was born under the light of the Trees and saw them die as the world went dark. And so many kings: Finwe, Fëanor, Fingolfin, Finrod, Fingon, Turgon…all slain because of that stupid Oath."

"Slain to protect their people from the darkness," corrected Erestor. "But not all has changed."

"Which means I am as likely to be stabbed by an orc now as I was then?"

Erestor laughed. "My friend, I pity any creature that tries to kill you."

Glorfindel smiled as well. "It has been some time since I last wielded a blade."

They sat in companionable silence for some time. The sun sank behind the mountains in the west. Finally Erestor asked, "What was it like?"

"Hm?"

"The light of the Two Trees. I know the tales but I would like to hear it from someone who lived there."

Glorfindel leaned back and stared at the sky. The bright star of Eärendil was just a glimmer against the darkening horizon. "Fire and ice," he said thoughtfully. "We knew not ice then, for the Valar made sure we were neither too warm not too cold. But as I look back, that is how I think of them. Laurelin's light was like sunlight reflecting on water while the light of Telperion was cool and silvery. There was neither day nor night.

"Not long after my adventure as an eagle, I tried to climb Laurelin. I wanted to see if the leaves were warm to the touch." Glorfindel laughed softly. "My father was horrified. He threatened everything from murder to banishment. I think the Valar probably found the entire incident amusing. They looked upon even the eldest of us as beloved children."

"And you speak of Eärendil as unruly?"

"I was not destined for greatness."

Erestor raised an eyebrow. "So says the Elf who slew a Balrog."

"Perhaps not as much greatness---after all, I died," pointed out the golden-haired Elf before continuing his story. "The Darkening of the Trees was both terrifying and fascinating. There was a great festival to celebrate the harvest. Laurelin went dark first. Not all at once---the light began to fade as the poison spread upward---but it was a time of day when both Trees should have been at their brightest so we noticed right away. Then Telperion began to fade as well."

Glorfindel shuddered at the memory. "The first nightfall was terrifying. An evil blackness spread from the dead Trees. We lit torches but even that light seemed diminished. Then Manwë sent a wind to disperse the blackness and we could see the stars." A smile lit his features. "I had never paid them much heed, though Tirion was built where we could enjoy both the light of the Trees and the stars. After the death of the Trees, they were a promise of hope."

Erestor sat silent, entranced by the tale Glorfindel spun.

**ڃ ڃ ڃ**

* * *

1 Blind Guardians. _Nightfall in Middle-Earth_. The Eldar. Century Media. 1998. The chorus was left out to make the song fit better in the story. 


	5. Chapter Five

**From the Ashes **by Jessie Syring

**Disclclaimer**: all characters belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. I hope I insult no one by playing with his characters.

---T---T---T---T---T---T---T---T---T---

Chapter Five 

Concern lined Erestor's face as he made his way through the halls of the Last Homely House. Three days had passed since he and Glorfindel had gone to the waterfall and he had scarcely seen the golden-haired Elf since then. When they had met, Glorfindel seemed preoccupied and quickly excused himself. A few discreet questions to the servants revealed that Glorfindel had been seen in the library, often late in the night.

Erestor entered the library and stopped, his expression shocked. Books were scattered across several tables, thrown carelessly atop one another in piles. Several had ended up on the floor. At the far end of one table, Glorfindel leaned over a book and flipped rapidly through the pages.

"Glorfindel, what are you doing?" Erestor asked sternly, carefully collecting several books from the floor and placing them on the table.

Glorfindel barely spared him a glance. "None of these books are correct," he growled, slamming the book shut and scanning the shelves around him. "Are there any other books on the Fall of Gondolin?"

"Perhaps if you told me exactly what you were looking for, I could help you find it instead of you leaving these books about where they could be damaged."

Glorfindel leaned heavily on the table. "All of these books are...lacking on certain details."

"There were precious few details that could be learned. Few warriors survived and most of the people were too traumatized to speak clearly of the events."

"Tuor survived," snapped Glorfindel. "He could have told."

Erestor picked the last of the books from the floor and set them on the table. He regarded Glorfindel with a confused expression. "Told what, Glorfindel? If I am to help, you must stop speaking in riddles."

"I wanted to see how history remembers us."

Glorfindel spun around and began pacing. Erestor watched him with worry---he had never seen his friend so agitated. He glanced at the book Glorfindel had been looking at and scanned the contents of the pages.

Glorfindel glowered across the table at the tome. "Gothmog was the greatest of the Balrogs. It was Gothmog who slew Fëanor and Fingon and commanded the attack on Gondolin."

"The histories say as much," Erestor said carefully, not sure of the best response.

"So why does Ecthelion get a mere sentence?" Glorfindel jabbed a finger at the page in question. "He sacrificed himself to kill Gothmog. He robbed Morgoth of perhaps his greatest servant. By killing Gothmog, he bought us precious time to get everyone we could to the tunnel."

Glorfindel broke off and turned away again, staring out the window. After a long moment, he took a deep breath and said, "I saw him die, Erestor. I saw him die and could do nothing. So I fled with everyone else. And for my actions, I am given two paragraphs. Two paragraphs. For falling off a cliff."

"Your battle was witnessed by many. You were---"

"A hero?" Glorfindel shook his head. "That word is better suited to others. I merely did my duty."

Erestor nodded thoughtfully and rose. "Come with me," he said.

Glorfindel frowned but obeyed. Erestor led him to a well-lit alcove in the upper gallery. After a few moments of searching the shelves there, the dark-haired councilor selected a thin book and held it out to him.

"I think this may be what you are looking for," he said quietly.

Glorfindel accepted the book and looked at it. The cover, made of worn leather, was dry and cracked. Embossed on the cover in gold were the words _Ehtelë A Los'lóŕiol: Arátor Ondolindö_.1 Glorfindel looked at Erestor, his expression clearly one of surprise and curiosity.

"It is written in Quenya," said Erestor. "Too few in Imladris can speak it, let alone read it in poetic verse. But I think you will find what you are seeking here."

Erestor turned and left the library, smiling as he heard a startled gasp from Glorfindel.

**ڃ ڃ ڃ**

Glorfindel took the book and opened it to the first page as Erestor began walking away. He couldn't contain a startled gasp as he saw the forward, written in the more commonly used Sindarin. The hand that had scribed the words was eerily familiar to him.

_I have seen many things in my mortal life. None will ever equal the splendor or tragedy of Gondolin, the Hidden Rock. Better was it named in its founding: Ondolindë---Stone Song. Truly it was a beautiful blend of the solidness stone and the harmony of nature._

_But this tale is not of Gondolin itself. Many songs and stories are already told of its glory. Instead, I will speak of two of the greatest acts of courage I have ever witnesses._

_Ecthelion, lord of the Fountain, and Glorfindel, lord of the Golden Flower, were two of the greatest Elves I have ever had the privilege to know. They had strength of will and love of life like few to walk this world before or since. Both died at the Fall of Gondolin, in great acts of self-sacrifice for a cause they did not know was already lost._

_Age is upon me, and the sea calls me. Before I set sail, I will tell the tale of these great champions._

_Were Ecthelion and Glorfindel to walk the world again and read these words, I think they would laugh. They were neither heroes nor champions._

_They would say they only did their duty._

_Tuor_

Glorfindel dropped heavily into a chair, shocked. He stared at the book for several minutes. At last, he turned to the next page.

**ڃ ڃ ڃ**

The sound of a merry voice raised in song echoed through the vaulted halls of the Last Homely House and penetrated even the quiet study used by Erestor. He looked up from the ledger before him and cocked his head to one side, listening. A smile crossed his face as he recognized the voice. As he rose, the door to the study opened and Glorfindel entered.

"Erestor, why are you closed in here doing work that can be left for another time?"

"Unfortunately, I have delayed too long on this already. It should have been completed some weeks ago." Erestor eyed his friend. "You are in higher spirits than you were this morning. I take it you found Tuor's poems to your liking?"

"Quite accurate, but Tuor's words are those of a poet. 'Ecthelion of the voice of music?' And 'golden Glorfindel?'" Glorfindel laughed lightly. "Hardly descriptions I would use in the heat of battle."

"Nor would any, I should think," said Erestor. "It may be how he wished to remember you."

"It is fitting. Silly, but fitting. I am surprised, though. He never struck me as having a poet's heart." Glorfindel looked away, his smile fading. "Erestor, I...do not have the words to thank you. You have been a true friend with the patience of the Valar themselves."

Erestor put a hand on Glorfindel's forearm, drawing his gaze. "There is no need to thank me. I understand now, better than before, how strange these times must seem to you."

"Less strange now for your help."

Erestor shrugged but could not hide a smile. "It is a fair trade for the tales you share with me."

Glorfindel smiled as well. "Perhaps. But I am grateful you have shown me that the heroes of the First Age have not been forgotten." He looked at the book and chuckled. "Instead, we are relegated to poem and song."

Erestor laughed. "You sound like that is a fate worst than death."

"Tuor's poem is well suited to a warrior. I fear what other songs may be sung."

"I am certain Lindir would be more than happy to give you examples."

"I will forego that pleasure, thank you!" Glorfindel put an arm around Erestor's shoulders and directed him toward the door. "But now I have more questions and it is nearly time for the midday meal."

Laughing at Glorfindel's enthusiasm, Erestor followed him out of the study.

**ڃ ڃ ڃ**

* * *

1 Fountain and Flower: Heroes of Gondolin. Translated from Quenyan. 


	6. Chapter Six

**From the Ashes **by Jessie Syring

**Disclaimer**: All characters belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. I hope I insult no one by playing with his characters.

---T---T---T---T---T---T---T---T---T---T---T---

Chapter Six 

Elrond looked up from his books as a horse galloped across the bridge and into the courtyard. The rider was one of the messengers he had sent out nearly three weeks ago. The Elf ran up the steps to the balcony and bowed to him, holding out a sealed envelope. Taking it, Elrond recognized the seal.

"I bring greetings from Lady Galadriel," the messenger said. "She asks that I deliver this to you and also tell you she and the Lord Celeborn are coming to Rivendell. They shall arrive by Mid-Summer Day."

Elrond raised one eyebrow. Two weeks to prepare for her arrival. Erestor would be in a dither trying to make everything perfect for such an important visitor. "Thank you, Ariendil. See to your horse and be fed."

As the messenger left, Elrond broke the seal and took the letter from the envelope. The missive was written in the lady's own delicate script and addressed the matter of Glorfindel. While none had heard of an Elf being sent back as an adult, and few even knew of instances where reborn Elves walked the world, the wise of Lothlorien agreed it was indeed possible. Galadriel was coming to assess the situation for herself, having met Glorfindel once when he was but a child in Valinor.

Elrond folded the letter again and tucked it inside his sleeve. He went into the Last Homely Home and walked past his office. He could see Erestor seated at a desk, his back to the door. A pen scratched quietly as he wrote in a ledger.

"Erestor," called Elrond, "Lady Galadriel and an entourage will be arriving here in a fortnight. I want the best accommodations made ready for her."

"Lady Galadriel!"

"Yes. Have you seen Glorfindel?"

"He was down at the training grounds this morning. He's probably still there."

Elrond nodded and left. At Erestor's advice, he had given the golden-haired Elf leave to wander Imladris as he wished. Glorfindel still spent most of his time with Erestor, exploring the area or discussing history. When duties took the older Elf away, he could be found watching the younger Elves learn the way of sword and bow. He had made fast friends the eldest of the upcoming warriors, especially Elrond's twin sons, as he gave them finer pointers to improve their skills.

Elrond left the home and walked down a well-worn path leading through the woods. The trail branched and he followed the left-hand fork that led farther from the homes of the valley. He could hear young voices and laughter in the distance. Focused on his destination, he failed to see movement in the woods.

Suddenly a heavy weight slammed into him from behind and knocked him to the ground with enough force to drive the breath from his lungs. Hot, foul breath blew across him and sharp teeth ripped at his robes. He struggled to throw off what he now recognized to be a wolf, but he was too dazed and could not get the leverage he needed. Long teeth sank into his shoulder and he cried out.

**ڃ ڃ ڃ**

Glorfindel's head whipped around at the cry of pain. The younger Elves and their teachers also stopped their activity. Before they could react, Glorfindel grabbed a sword from one of the instructors and ran back toward the settlement. About halfway, he came upon a gruesome scene.

A big wolf had Elrond on the ground and was savagely mauling him. There was much blood and Elrond's struggles were becoming weaker. Acting quickly, Glorfindel snatched a fist-sized rock from the trail and threw it.

The missile struck the wolf squarely in the ribs. With a yelp of pain, it leaped clear of its victim and swung toward Glorfindel. Blood and saliva dripped from its maw and its yellow eyes glowed with an evil malevolence. It charged. Glorfindel danced to one side at the last possible moment and slashed downward with the sword. The wolf howled in rage but turned back on itself and Glorfindel felt a flash of pain through the back of one leg.

The wolf jumped clear and circled, snarling. Glorfindel took a defensive stance, wincing at the throbbing in his leg. The creature did not seem badly injured and he had suspected as much---training swords had a dull edge. He risked a glance at Elrond but he had not moved. Glorfindel could not tell if Elrond had lost consciousness or just avoiding drawing the attention of the wolf again.

The wolf leaped at Glorfindel. He braced for the attack, but his injured leg buckled beneath him and he went down, losing his sword. He shoved one arm in the wolf's mouth, wincing as the teeth grabbed hold. Better my arm than my throat, he thought. The wolf rose up and shook its head violently from side to side. Glorfindel cried out, then managed to get one leg under the wolf and kick it hard.

The wolf flew clear. Glorfindel struggled to his hands and knees---where had the accursed beast gone? His borrowed sword lay nearby. He crawled toward it.

"Ada!"

The anguished cry brought him around. The youths and the instructors had arrived on the scene. One of Elrond's sons---he wasn't sure which---started toward his fallen father but froze as the wolf appeared again and stalked toward him. It was too close.

"Glorfindel! Knife!"

Twisting at the shout, Glorfindel saw something shiny flying toward him. He caught the blade and lunged toward the wolf. He managed to get an arm around the beast. It struggled fiercely, nearly squirming free immediately. The Elf warrior didn't need another opportunity. He drove the knife downward at the base of the wolf's neck.

Glorfindel sank to the ground beside the dead wolf, panting for breath. He closed his eyes against the dizziness caused by blood loss. He could hear Erestor giving orders but could not quite make them out against the sound of his blood pounding in his ears. He opened his eyes again and watched two Elves lifting Elrond and carrying him toward the Last Homely House, then turned as Erestor knelt beside him.

"Is he all right?"

"He is in better shape than you," Erestor said.

Glorfindel looked at his mangled arm and grimaced. "It looks worse than it is."

Erestor helped him to his feet and noticed the blood on his pant leg. "You cannot walk on that."

Glorfindel looked at him. "I fear you are right."

Erestor wrapped an arm around Glorfindel's waist, supporting him. Glorfindel nodded and closed his eyes against the sudden feeling that the world was tilting crazily. He took one cautious step…and passed out.

**ڃ ڃ ڃ**


	7. Chapter Seven

**From the Ashes **by Jessie Syring

**Disclaimer**: All characters belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. I hope I insult no one by playing with his characters.

---T---T---T---T---T---T---T---T---T---T---T---T---

Chapter Seven 

Erestor sat in the dark room beside Elrond's bed, enjoying the solitude in spite of his worries. The council knew where to find him if they needed him, but he had no intention of leaving now. In spite of the healers' reassurances, Erestor needed to know for himself that the lord of Imladris would be well.

A quiet knock sounded on the door. Erestor moved quickly to answer it and saw the captain of the guard, a stern-faced Sindarin Elf. Glancing over his shoulder one last time, Erestor stepped into the hall. He frowned as he saw Elrond's sons as well but chose to let it go---the twins were nearly adults and they both had swords strapped on their hips. Erestor did not have to look to know these were no training blades.

"How is Adar?" asked Elrohir, large grey eyes looking at Erestor.

He put a reassuring hand on each youth's shoulder. "He is resting. He will not have use of his arm for a while but Hithlain says it will heal fully. You both should be resting as well."

"We were out with the guards," said Elladan.

"Indeed? What did you find?" Though he looked at the twins, he asked the question of the captain of the guards.

"There was only the one wolf, Lord Erestor. We followed its tracks nearly two miles upstream. It crossed the river there and made its way past the guards. We are searching for others, but---"

"The wolf crossed the river?" Erestor asked in disbelief. "Why would it come here? There is easier hunting on the other side and we would not bother it there."

The captain glanced at Elladan and Elrohir but said nothing. Erestor staggered back as all the information clicked in place. The savageness of the wolf's attack. The strange glow in its eyes. That it had attacked only Elrond when surely it had seen others, stopping its assault only when attacked by Glorfindel. And it had turned on the twins---Elrond's heirs---before Glorfindel managed to slay it.

"A werewolf?" he ventured, the very thought shocking him.

"I do not know, my lord. But its actions were not natural. It waited in the bushes some time before it attacked."

"Indeed," said a new voice. Elrond stood in the doorway. He looked very pale against the dark blue robe he had put on. "It was enspelled and sent here with a purpose. To kill me."

Erestor frowned. "You should not be out of bed," he said sternly.

"I will return to my bed soon enough." Elrond touched each of his sons on the shoulder and smiled softly, a gesture that seemed to comfort them. "There are dark forces stirring and they would have me removed as a threat. But the danger is gone now."

"It should not have been there to begin with."

"The important thing is that it is dead and we now know to be alert to the possibility they will try again." Elrond closed his eyes and swayed slightly.

Erestor immediately caught him under the arm. "Let us get you back to bed."

Elrond did not protest as Erestor and the twins helped him back to his room and tucked him in. By the time the blankets were settled and the pillows fluffed to Elrohir's satisfaction, he had regained a bit of color, although he held his shoulder carefully. Erestor splashed water into a goblet and opened a packet of powder.

"Just the water for now, Erestor," said Elrond. "How is Glorfindel? Was he badly injured?"

Erestor gave Elrond the goblet. "In a healing sleep," he said. "He saved you and the twins."

"He jumped right on the wolf, Ada," said Elladan. "It nearly got away before he stabbed it."

"My house owes him much this day. How serious are his injuries?"

"His left arm was badly bitten several times---he will not be able to use it for a while." Erestor closed his eyes, remembering the sight of those ghastly wounds. "And he took a bite to the back of one leg."

Elrond closed his eyes. "Thank the Valar it was not worse. All around."

"We need to discuss this attack, Elrond. Our border defenses may no longer be effective."

"Later, Erestor. For now, I simply wish to be with my sons."

Erestor accepted the implied dismissal. Elrohir and Elladan were seated on the edge of the bed, watching their father. Smiling, Erestor slipped into the hall and closed the door. He could rest now as well.

**ڃ ڃ ڃ**

Voices. So faint as to seem far away. Then something cool was pressed against his forehead. Glorfindel tried to push it away and groaned as hot knives of pain sliced through his arm from wrist to shoulder before settling into his forearm as a throbbing ache. He became aware of a concerned-looking Erestor looking down at him and looked around.

"I suppose Mandos does not want me back," he groaned. "Last time, it did not hurt so badly."

Erestor's expression twisted into a combination of laughter and worry. "There is a bit of a difference between having been mauled by a wolf and going toe-to-toe with a Balrog."

"Toe-to-hoof," corrected Glorfindel. He took a few deep breaths and stared out the window at the sunshine. "What did they give me?"

Erestor's smile grew. "A concoction of Elrond's. He says it would knock out a Dwarf."

"It would have to---it is foul!"

"They did not want you fighting while they sewed you back together. And you needed the rest."

"I would rather have gotten drunk. How's Elrond?"

"Eating breakfast in the hall and issuing orders to reinforce the borders. The healers would rather see him abed for another few days, but he has agreed to go slowly."

Glorfindel turned his blue eyes on Erestor again. "Does he know that was no ordinary wolf?"

"He suspects it was a werewolf, though few have been seen since the First Age."

Glorfindel's face turned grave. "A servant of Morgoth. But Angband and its lands were destroyed. Tol-en-Gaurhoth is gone as well, is it not?"

"And Morgoth has been banished, but darkness remains. His general has walked this world."

"Gorthaur?"

"Yes. To us, he is Sauron the Deceiver." Erestor turned away for a few moments. Ignoring his own pains, Glorfindel pushed himself awkwardly into a sitting position. Erestor turned back to him and pushed pillows behind his back so he could lean against them. "It...is not easy to talk about," he said. "Sauron walked this world in disguise, gaining trust and making friends. So he forged the rings of power. Nine rings for Men. Seven for the Dwarves. Celebrimbor made three rings for the Elves---Sauron had no hand in their forging. He crafted a master ring in secret, one which could control all others."

"Including the Elven rings?"

Erestor sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to jar Glorfindel's injuries. "The rings were hidden from him. But Sauron's desire for power drove him. He made war to take the rings from us, for with them he can influence the will of the Elves."

"Tell me."

Erestor stared at his hands. "The Enemy had taken over most of the lands, killing and corrupting," he said. "His war on the lands of Eregion led to its destruction and the Change of the World. Very few of us survived his assault. Both of my parents were slain. Gil-Galad sent Elrond with all the survivors into hiding and we founded Imladris here, in secret. But the attacks continued and soon only a few remained to fight."

Glorfindel placed a hand on his shoulder, giving his new friend silent strength as he heard the catch in Erestor's voice. He did not know the places of which Erestor spoke save what he had heard in songs but had too much honor to interrupt a tale already too difficult to tell. Erestor continued.

"Something had to be done to stop Sauron. Great care was taken to bring the armies together in secret---the Elves of Rivendell and the Grey Havens, the Dwarves of Khazad-dum, and the Men of Gondor. We trained in secret. Made plans and remade them. Finally, we marched on Barad-dur. Gil-Galad, the High King led us. Elrond was his herald. I was young, but in the service of Elrond as a scribe. The Men followed Elendil, a Numenoran king. We laid siege to the black fortress and fought on the slopes of Mount Doom itself. The Enemy emerged from his tower, wearing the ring. He laid hold of Gil-Galad and he burst into flame." Erestor failed to notice Glorfindel recoil in horror as he continued. "Naught survived but his crown and spear. But for a lucky blow, we all would have died that day. But Isildur of Gondor cut the ring from Sauron's hand."

"Then the war was won?" prompted Glorfindel.

"No. Isildur did not have the strength to destroy the one ring. It has been lost many years. It is said Sauron's minions hunt it still. And the Elven rings."

Glorfindel's eyes widened. "Elrond has one of the rings."

"Yes. He has Vilya, the Ring of Air. Gil-Galad gave it to him before the final battle. I think he knew he was going to die." Erestor swallowed hard. "We have kept it hidden all these years. But we cannot last if the Dark Lord learns finds the master ring."

Glorfindel lowered his head. "This must be the reason I was sent back," he said. "To help protect the heirs of Eärendil from the new darkness."

"Indeed," said Elrond. The younger Elves looked up to see him standing quietly in the door. "As your fight with the Balrog saved the life of my father, you seem destined to serve me in the same manner."

Glorfindel felt heat rising to his cheeks. "A poor protector I am," he said, looking at his arm, "when one scrawny wolf banishes me to a sickbed."

Elrond raised one eyebrow. "Armed with a training sword and a dagger? You did well against a werewolf. I think I would be hard-pressed to find a better warrior to guard my household."

Glorfindel sat a little straighter. "Are you offering me that position?

"Would you accept it, Glorfindel of Gondolin?"

"No."

Erestor looked startled at that firm answer. Elrond frowned slightly.

"I am no longer Glorfindel of Gondolin," Glorfindel said, a deep sadness in his voice. "My family and my house died with the city more years ago than I can count. I am now Glorfindel of Rivendell." He took a deep breath as he considered his answer. "And I accept your offer."

**ڃ ڃ ڃ**


	8. Chapter Eight

**From the Ashes **by Jessie Syring

**Disclaimer**: All characters belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. I hope I insult no one by playing with his characters.

---T---T---T---T---T---T---T---T---T---T---T---T---

Chapter Eight 

Erestor leaned against a tree with his arms crossed, frowning, as he watched Glorfindel in deep discussion with a weapon smith. The fair-haired Elf had scarcely been released from his bed when he began grumbling about arming himself with something more than a table knife. He had hobbled to the armory and found both a dagger and sword that would suit him until he could have one made especially for his build. The dagger had been finished quickly and word had finally come that the sword was completed.

Glorfindel held up the sword, arm extended so he could look down its length. The slightly curved blade shone brightly in the sun coming through the trees. To Erestor's eye, the nearly straight blade seemed better suited to a human's weapon---it bore little semblance to the S-shaped weapons preferred by Rivendell's guards---but it seemed to please Glorfindel. He swung it through a few maneuvers, being careful to keep his healing left arm pressed to his side so it would not be jarred too badly. Then a bright smile lit his face. He gave the smith the weapon again and a few more instructions before turning.

"Erestor," he said in surprise. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long. Lord Elrond sent me to find you. I'm to see you cleaned up---" Erestor's frown indicated he did not think that possible. "---and into some decent clothes. Lady Galadriel and her entourage have arrived. They are resting from their journey, but there will be a formal dinner tonight."

Glorfindel frowned. "I _hate_ formal affairs, Erestor. You know that. I must watch what I say and wear that stiff-collared shirt with all the embroidery---it weighs more than my armor did when I fought the Balrog!"

Erestor bit back a laugh. "But it is expected as part of your new station. And the Lady of Lothlorien has come because of you."

Glorfindel grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like he would rather everyone forget. They followed the path back to the Last Homely House, passing a guard as they did so. One of Glorfindel's first acts had been to set up a regular guard around Rivendell in addition to the patrols, the troops being rotated to new areas every few days so they did not grow so familiar with a territory that they would miss things. Glorfindel awkwardly walked up the steps to the porch. The stitches had been removed from his leg but---Elven healing or not---the torn muscles would take time to knit completely.

"Would you like me to carry you?" Erestor asked, keeping his expression neutral.

"When the Bruinen flows with wine!" Glorfindel snapped good-naturedly.

The hall was bustling with activity when they arrived. Most wore the colors of Elrond's house, blue and black with the star-like pattern of a Silmaril on it. Others wore greens and golds of a pattern Glorfindel did not recognize. He caught a glimpse of a tall female in white with hair nearly the color of his. Then they were making their way through the organized chaos, heading for residential section.

"Glorfindel. Erestor." Elrond's call stopped them both. Rivendell's lord was dressed in a deep burgundy robe and wore a silver circlet on his head. His right arm hung in a sling of the same color fabric as the robe. "It is fortunate I saw you," he said. "Glorfindel, the Lady Galadriel is most anxious to meet you and would prefer it not be at the feast tonight."

Glorfindel looked significantly at his own clothing. "I am hardly dressed for such a meeting, Elrond. And..."

"She was quite insistent, though she did say she wished a private meeting." Elrond looked significantly at the people around them. "Perhaps on the porch---"

Elrond's tone was insistent, just short of a command. Glorfindel sighed. "I shall await the lady there." He limped to the exit.

Erestor smiled and looked at Elrond. "I think he would rather face a Balrog again."

**ڃ ڃ ڃ**

Glorfindel leaned against the rail of the porch and stared across Rivendell. From where he stood, he had a commanding view of the valley and the surrounding mountains. His heart ached---it was so like his own home so many millennia gone now, but also so different. The climate had been cooler, and the Echoriath Mountains were more rugged. There was so much joy here---singing and laughing. As it had been in Gondolin before---

"Your heart is heavy, Glorfindel o Los'lóŕiol," said a quiet voice, using the ancient name of his house. "You miss your home and all that once was." Glorfindel nodded, unable to turn and face the speaker. She silently glided up beside him and shared his view. "I never saw the city of Gondolin myself, but many are the tales of its beauty. And its brave defenders."

Glorfindel finally turned to look at her. Even in the bright daylight, the female seemed to glow with an inner light. Her features were somehow both old and young and free of worry. She wore a white gown with a veil of lace that covered long hair the color of gold. Her gaze was filled with compassion.

"Lady Altariel?" he asked, staring at her.

She smiled. "That is the name I bore when first we met. Here I am called Galadriel. You were hardly more than a child then."

"And living under the light of the Trees." He stared at the forest surrounding them. "So much has changed since then."

"And you wonder why you were sent back?"

Glorfindel looked at her. "Do you read my mind, Lady?"

Galadriel placed a long-fingered hand on his cheek. "There is no need when I can see your fears written on your face," she said. "You have no friends or loved ones left from the days that have gone before. The deeds of your friend, Ecthelion, surpassed yours. So many died on that dark day, so why were you chosen?"

"You speak my mind truly."

Galadriel nodded and folded her arms in her sleeves. "Even in our immortal lives, we shall never understand the will of the Valar," she said, "but we can control what fate sets before us. Be calm, Glorfindel of Rivendell. Your purpose in returning will make itself known in time."

"Thank you, Lady."

With another smile, she returned to the hall. Glorfindel sighed and, moving carefully, took a seat on the top step. He had no desire to go back inside straight away. If Elrond and Erestor thought they could coerce him, they would need the entire household guard---he would not go easily. He needed to think about what Lady Galadriel had said. He did not look up when Erestor sat beside him.

"It might not be as exciting around here as what you are used to," said Erestor. "There are no Balrogs to slay and we have not seen a dragon in thousands of years."

Glorfindel smiled. "It will be a nice change," he said, keeping the same light tone.

Erestor held up a piece of leather and sighed. "If you're going to be 'Glorfindel of Rivendell' now, I do not suppose you will want this."

Glorfindel quickly snatched it from his hand before he could hide it again and gasped. It was simply a leather thong with a token on it, like many warriors used to hold their hair back. The token was wood, dyed a dark shade of green, and had a design carved into it of a star with multiple points. The star had been filled with a golden resin. Glorfindel's hands trembled as he stared up at Erestor.

"I started making it after your arrival. To remind you of your home."

Glorfindel finally found his voice again. "I do not know what to say---"

"Then say nothing. But promise me one thing," Erestor said, rising.

"If it is mine to give, I shall."

"Promise you will continue to tell me about Gondolin."

Glorfindel looked at Erestor, who smiled. A smile slowly crossed Glorfindel's features and he rose carefully, accepting the hand Erestor extended to help.

"Just do not ask me to tell you how to fight Balrogs."

Erestor laughed. "That is a promise, my friend."

Glorfindel paused, studying Erestor. "You remind me of him in many ways," he said softly.

"Who?"

"Ecthelion. So full of life and with an interest in many things." Glorfindel looked away and took a deep breath. "At first, I wondered why he was not sent back. But now I understand. I need to find a place in this time and leave my old life behind." He smiled slightly and once more looked at Erestor, his eyes bright with hope. "I need to forge new friendships. And I am glad to have you for a friend."

Erestor smiled and nodded. There was nothing more to say.

THE END


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